


Hard Reset

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x18 coda, M/M, Season/Series 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: Saving people, hunting things. Two brothers against the world.Sam is convinced they're missing something.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 60
Kudos: 84





	1. Us Against the World

The day was bright.

Dean was sitting with Sam outside the diner, enjoying pie with his brother.

"This is the life," said Dean, placing the fork on his tongue and letting the flaky pie crust melt in his mouth. "You an' me. Drivin' cross country. Stayin' in shitty motels and chasin' tail."

He beamed proudly at the Impala, sitting shiny out in the street in front of the diner.

Sam was strangely quiet.

"Aw, c'mon," said Dean. "You ain't still mad at me 'cause I dragged you away from your girlfriend?"

"No, it's - it's not that," said Sam, looking confused. "It's just. Does the light seem too bright to you?"

Dean gave him a weird look. He leaned forward.

"What? Sammy, we spend all our damned lives in the darkness and now you're complaining about a little sunshine?"

"No, of course not," said Sam.

"You boys want anything else?" interrupted the waitress, smacking her gum, one hand on her hip and a coffeepot in the other.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," grinned Dean. "You wanna fill 'er up again?"

The waitress's smile dimmed a notch.

"Sir, I can report you for sexual harrassment," she said.

"Whoa! Okay, I'm sorry," said Dean.

"Dirty old man," she muttered as she walked away.

Dean gaped after her.

"Old man?" he repeated. "I'm twenty-six?"

Sam was really staring at him now. He was looking at their clothing.

"Dean," he said. "It's not the sunlight, or the - the! The _colors_ are all wrong."

"What does that mean, Rainman?" 

"And that!" said Sam. "The slurs, the shitty flirting!"

"Hey, my flirting is _not_ shitty," said Dean.

"Dean, that waitress was about to have you arrested."

"What are you _talking_ about, Sam?"

"These clothes, this world," said Sam quietly. "I mean...look at us."

Dean looked at his reflection in the window and startled.

Instead of the youthful twenty-something guy he was used to seeing grin back at him, the man was definitely much older and a little sadder, almost sallow with haunted eyes.

Then he stared hard at his brother, who likewise did not look as young as Dean thought he should be.

"What the hell, man?" asked Dean. "Do you think some witch whammied us? Made us geezers, like that one time with the Irish guy?"

Sam blew a breath out of his nose. Dean recognized this as a sign of impatience.

"We're wearing _hoodies and jeans,_ " said Sam. "I haven't worn stuff like this since the day you picked me up from college."

"What are you talking about, Sam?" asked Dean. "That was like, barely six months ago. Why wouldn't you have the same clothing?"

"I don't know!" said Sam, frustrated, throwing up his hands. Then he leaned forward and said in a tense whisper, "But I _do_ know something weird is going on here."

"Okay," said Dean. "We're old men in weird clothes. Not exactly the worst thing a monster has done to either one of us. What do you think is going on?"

"I don't know!" said Sam. "It's like I keep getting the edge of it, but just when I think I've got it, I - it just slips out of my grasp."

"Well, you let me know when you figure it out."

"Dean, this is serious."

"And I'm taking it seriously!" Dean replied. "But since all we've got to go on is your hunch, what can we do?"

Sam stared out the window for a moment. One of his giant mitts wrapped around his coffee mug.

"Dean, do you remember anything about angels?" asked Sam.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"I mean it!" Sam insisted. "I think it's important."

Dean sighed and crossed his arms. It couldn't hurt to humor the guy.

They were brothers, after all.

Alone against the world.

"Angels?" he repeated.

He thought about it and shook his head.

"Nope. Nothing at all."


	2. Salt-n-Burn

"Sam!" Dean shouted, as Sam was tossed in the air by the ghost again.

He slammed into a gravestone in the old cemetery just as Dean's iron crowbar swished through the ghost, making it disappear.

"Stay right there!" said Dean, and he ran to the edge of the open grave, lighting his Zippo and then tossing it in. There was a loud _whoosh_ and the night lit up in flames.

Dean ran back to Sam and crouched down next to him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Fine," said Sam, rolling to his feet. "I, uh - can't keep doin' this, man?"

"Getting too old for this shit, am I right?" grinned Dean. He gave his brother a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Time for some well-earned victory drinks, maybe some victory sex, who knows?"

He winked, and Sam trailed behind him to the car.

"Don't you feel like," said Sam, "I don't know, we've _done all this before?_ "

"Well, yeah, Sam," Dean replied. "It's what Dad raised us to do."

"No, that's not what I mean," said Sam. "It's just, I don't know. Tired? A rehash?"

Dean chuckled.

"Sam, the minute you find fighting monsters boring, it's time to hang up your hat," said Dean. "It's just 'cause that witch turned us into old men, dude. Don't worry, we'll find her. Or him."

He shuddered.

"Witches," he said.

Dean walked up to a beautiful red Firebird and got in the driver's side.

Sam paused.

"What're you doin', Sammy?" Dean said. "Daylight's wastin'!"

He looked up at the night sky.

"You know what I mean."

"I could have _sworn -_ we had a different car," said Sam.

Dean gave him a puzzled look.

"This is _Dad's Firebird,_ " he said slowly. "Man, maybe you hit that gravestone harder than I thought. C'mon, Sammy, I wanna get laid. Let's go."

Confused, Sam sighed and got into the passenger seat.

"It's _Sam_ ," he told his brother, as Dean fired up the engine.

***

Dean woke slowly, which was never a good sign.

His mouth felt like ass and his brain was trying to leak out through his eyeballs, and - Starla? Stella? whatever, was long gone.

"Blech," he announced to the room.

The door opened and Sam came in from his morning run.

"How're you feeling?" Sam asked.

"You are _way_ too chipper for this hour," said Dean. "Water. Coffee. Whatever you got."

"You know, you don't need to drink that much whisky, Dean."

Dean nodded, then immediately regretted it. 

"What can I say? I can hold my booze," he bragged. "It's a gift."

"You spent more time horking it up than you did drinking it," said Sam, handing him a glass of water and turning on the coffeemaker.

"Thanks," said Dean.

Then something hit him - a dream? 

_"Dean."_

That _voice._

It was so _familiar,_ where had he heard it before?

"Did we -" Dean cleared his throat. "Uh. Did we ever know anybody with. Y'know. A super-deep voice?"

"What?" asked Sam, puzzled. 

"It's just, I don't know if it was a dream, but it's ringing a bell somewhere," said Dean. "Just somebody saying my name, like - "

And he deepened his voice to a throaty rasp like whisky and gravel, and said:

 _"Dean._ "

Sam poured them both coffee and handed him one of the mugs.

"It's weird, now that you mention it," said Sam. "Yeah, it sounds familiar."

"Like a friggin' song you can just barely remember," Dean agreed. "It's gonna drive me nuts."

"Bobby called," said Sam. "He says this thing we're investigating might actually be a demon."

"Demon?" repeated Dean. "Wow. Ain't that a little above our paygrade?"

Sam shrugged.

"Anything's a lead on who might've killed Mom," he said.

"True," Dean told him. "And finding Dad."

"Yeah, well. _That,_ I'm less excited about."

"Sam, you're not gonna do this again, are you?" Dean demanded. "The man is _missing,_ Sam. And he's our _dad._ "

"I know, it's just that we didn't exactly part on good - " Sam began, and then paused. 

"What? What is it?"

"It's just," said Sam. "I'm having this _really weird_ sense of déjà-vu?"

"Again?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "Ever since the diner."

"You mean when you were saying everything was too colorful?"

"Yeah, and - I mean it, Dean, I think we used to have a different car."

Dean drank his coffee and thought about it.

"And now there's this mysterious voice in my dreams," he said. "I mean, dreams are dreams, right?"

"Not for us," said Sam.

"Yeah, guess you're right."

"We'd better get a move on if we're going to meet with the sheriff," Sam said.

"Gimme a minute and I'm right behind you."

***

The case was an easy one, just some kids messing around where they shouldn't have been.

"I like these," said Dean. "Easy, open-and-shut, done in a couple of days, no over-arching storyline."

Sam gave Dean a weird look.

"Why would you put it that way?" he asked. "That's a weird thing to say."

Dean shook his head.

"I don't know."

He was behind the wheel of his beloved Firebird, the window rolled down.

"Just know that this is perfect," he said. "Me and my brother, fightin' the good fight. Just you and me and nobody else."

"Why does it seem like there should be?" asked Sam. "Someone else, I mean."

"What're you talkin' about?" Dean asked. "There's never been anyone else. Just the two of us. It's what this story's always been about."

"Okay, there is _something_ hinky going on here," said Sam. "And I don't mean a witch whammied us. I mean _we're in the wrong story._ "

"I don't - "

Then, louder, inside his head:

_"Dean, please."_

_"Dean, it's not broken."_

"Cas, we can fix this," Dean whispered.

He stared out the window for a while.

Then he pulled the car over to the side of the road.

He turned to his brother.

"Who's Cas?"


	3. Trial and Error

"Cas?" said Sam, repeating the word and rolling it around in his mouth like he was tasting it. "No, I don't think so, but -"

"But it seems like, maybe?" Dean nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. Something weird _is_ going on here, and not the usual weird."

"So what do you think?" asked Sam. "A spell? Cursed object? What?"

"I don't know," Dean replied, and then fired up the engine. "But I ain't gonna rest til I find out."

"All right, all right," said a new voice, clapping his hands together. "Damn! How do you keep _doing_ this?"

There was a man with a beard standing outside the Firebird.

The Winchester brothers got out of the car.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded.

The man sighed.

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" he asked. "Ugh. The name's Chuck. Not that you'll remember this time."

"Wait wait wait - !" Sam yelled, moving towards him.

The man snapped his fingers.

***

"I can't believe you're gonna be a lawyer," said Dean, smacking Sam on the shoulder. "Lookit you, all grown up."

"Knock it off, Dean," said Sam, but he was smiling. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

Dean's smile faltered.

"Dad's been on a hunting trip," he said. "And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Like that's never happened before," he said. "Probably drunk in a ditch or something."

Dean started to speak again, and then paused.

"Have I told you this before?"

***

The wendigo tossed Sam across the cave like a ragdoll.

"Sam!" Dean shouted.

He ran up to his brother.

Sam narrowed his eyes.

"I thought you didn't wear shorts," he said.

***

The Mustang purred along the highway as Sam and Dean headed toward the Iowa state line.

"I can't fucking believe they're after us," said Dean.

"Yeah, well, they _look_ like us and just killed a bunch of people in a diner," said Sam.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" Dean yelled. "Fuck, I wish -"

"What?"

"I don't know, we sure could use some heavenly firepower right about now!" Dean said.

"Heavenly - " Sam paused.

He gave his brother a hard look.

"Dean, are you forgetting something?"

Everything inside him screamed _yes! yes you are! Please, you have to remember!_

"Kinda in the middle of a high-speed chase here, Sam!" Dean said.

"But - " Sam said, and for some reason the car went silent.

" _What?_ " snapped Dean.

"Dunno," Sam said. "Just - something about angels. Feels important."

Dean looked at the road in front of him.

"Angels," he repeated.

And yeah, somehow it _did_ feel important.

"Sammy, I -" Dean said slowly. "I think there's somebody missing -"

Both brothers heard a loud sound of disgust. They couldn't tell where it was coming from.

Silence fell.

***

Dean sat on the hood of the Impala, drinking a beer and staring up at the stars.

Sam was on his way back from a case he'd been working in Nevada, and he was grabbing a couple of hours' worth of free alone time. 

He grinned about how he might've spent said alone time, but sue him. He was getting older, and he'd always had a sentimental part of himself that loved to be out in nature and loved looking up at the stars.

It reminded him of the world he'd sacrificed his life to save - and not just in the going-to-hell sense. Dean was well aware that he and Sam sacrificed every single day of their lives, lives in which they could have chosen to do just about anything, in order to keep the world safe.

Sometimes he liked to sit out under the stars and imagine them watching over him and his brother, watching the good they did for the world. Dean also liked to imagine that they approved, and that somehow, those stars kept him safe.

He slowly became aware of the song playing a radio.

" _I'm alone, yeah, I don't know if I can face the night_

_I'm in tears and the cryin' that I do is for you  
I want your love  
Let's break the walls between us  
Don't make it tough  
I'll put away my pride  
Enough's enough  
I've suffered and I've seen the light..._"

Dean started to sit up. 

He was suddenly very, very sure that something very important was being communicated to him via Steven Tyler.

" _Baby, you're my angel  
Come and save me tonight  
You're my angel  
Come and make it alright_

_Don't know what I'm gonna do about this feeling inside  
Yes it's true, loneliness took me for a ride  
Without your love I'm nothing but a beggar  
Without your love a dog without a bone  
What can I do? I'm sleepin' in this bed alone_

_Baby, you're my angel  
Come and save me tonight  
You're my angel  
Come and make it alright  
Come and save me tonight_

_You're the reason I live  
You're the reason I die  
You're the reason I give  
When I break down and cry  
Don't need no reason why_

_Baby, baby, baby_

_You're my angel  
Come and save me tonight  
You're my angel  
Yeah, come and make it alright  
You're my angel  
Come and save me tonight  
You're my angel  
Come and take me alright  
Come and save me tonight..."  
_

Dean sat up all the way. 

__

"Jesus Christ," he whispered.

__

He nearly spilled his beer.

__

"Cas?!"

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know I've used this song in stories before, but *come on*.


	4. Death of the Author

"Cas!" Dean shouted to the heavens. "Fuck. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. You got your ears on, wherever you are? Cas, if you can hear me - I love you, too!"

"Will you ever _stop?_ "

Dean looked up, startled, to see a man walking towards him. Beard, neat trim suit.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Chuck. I _created_ you. Why can't you just _do what you're told?_ "

Beside him, Sam's car came rumbling to a stop.

"Yeah well," said Dean. "We've never been much for that."

"Here I thought, after a hard reset, things would go back to normal," Chuck said. "And no matter _how many_ times I reset you, it didn't matter! You persist in rebelling against me." 

"Yeah? And I ain't the only one." 

Castiel's voice was echoing around Dean's head like a gunshot:

_It's not in the having._

_It's in just **being.**_

_It's in just saying it._

_I love you._

"You're supposed to love _me_ , not _him_."

"What, are you jealous?" asked Dean, incredulous. "This some kind of _your God is a jealous God_ , kinda thing? Well, tough. Sometimes people don't fucking _reciprocate_ , Chuck. Is that what you wanted for me and Cas? Because I've got news for you."

Dean hopped off the Impala and got right up in Chuck's face.

_"I fucking reciprocate_ ," Dean growled. "Bring Cas back, you sonuvabitch."

Chuck shrugged.

"Can't," he said. "I have no power there."

"Bullshit," said Sam, getting out of the car.

Dean glanced at him. Sam nodded. 

Finally, he'd remembered, too.

"This is awfully messy," said a new voice. 

They all turned to see a gaunt old man calmly eating something out of a greasy white paper bag.

"Oh, don't mind me," said Death. "Please continue."

"What are you doing here?" asked Chuck. "I didn't write this."

"Are you unaware of the concept of Death of the Author?" asked Death, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Chuck stared at him.

"Remember, Dean, when I told you that one day I would reap God himself?" asked Death. 

Dean nodded.

"Well, today is that day."

Death inclined his head towards Chuck.

"Feel free to get it out of your system first," he said. "But you will leave these boys alone."

"Leave them - I _created them!_ " shouted Chuck.

"Mmm. And as parents create their children, the day comes when those children are no longer under their control," Death commented. "Furthermore, the children with bad parents are better off without them, I would say. And permit me to tell you that I have always taken issue with your homophobic tendencies. It is truly incredible how much needless suffering that has caused throughout the centuries."

Chuck was speechless for a moment. Then he turned to Dean.

" _Why_ couldn't you have been the man I wrote you to be?" he wailed, throwing his hands in the air. "You're supposed to be a ladies' man, the kind of guy every guy wants to be, and now _this_?"

"Dude, if you can't see that me loving Cas changes nothing else about me, that's on you," Dean growled. "And you're really starting to sound a lot like our Dad."

"Yeah, I don't think Dean needs to hear any more of this," said Sam, to the rescue. "Hell, _none_ of us needs to hear any more of this."

The brothers nodded to Death, who set down his bag of food and picked up his scythe.

"No, wait," said Chuck. "You can't let this happen! I _made_ you! This is your destiny!"

"Sorry, Chuck," said Dean. "But screw destiny right in the face."

Death's scythe flashed.

***

Dean and Sam stood outside the bunker and watched as people reappeared in front of them one after the other.

"Charlie!" Sam exclaimed, throwing his arms around her. 

"Bobby!" Dean shouted, and hugged him.

Pamela, Jody, Donna - _everyone_ \- were standing in the yard.

Dean hoped against hope.

"Where's -"

And out of the emptiness strode Castiel, trenchcoat swirling around him, angel blade in hand, looking more the warrior angel than Dean had seen him in years.

"I heard your prayer," Castiel ground out. "And we fought our way out of the Empty."

Dean stared at him, openmouthed.

And between one heartbeat and the next, he thought:

_God, I love him._

"Cas," he breathed, and then _launched_ himself at the angel, kissing him stupid.

The whole world disappeared. Time slowed to a crawl as he pressed his lips to Castiel's, dry and chapped and full, just as Dean had always imagined them when he let himself admit that he imagined it.

Cas's arms came up around him and he was kissing back, hands in Dean's hair, little soft noises escaping his throat, noises Dean caught on his own lips.

He slowly worked his tongue into Cas's mouth, and it felt electric; that first tentative sweep of his tongue went straight to his dick. It was monumental, bigger than the both of them, grand and terrifying as Dean imagined Castiel's true form must be.

All around them, people were cheering, and Dean was dimly aware of it, but as if it was coming from a long way off. He was completely immersed in Castiel, sinking deep.

"If I may interrupt," said a polite voice at his shoulder.

Dean reluctantly broke away. Castiel just gave him a dazed look, as if he'd been hit in the face.

Death leaned against his walking stick and regarded the two of them coolly.

"I must tender my apologies," said Death, "but I have appointments elsewhere. I want to remind you, Dean, this time any death will be the real thing. So - stop being reckless, for your sake. For the sake of your brother and your angel. Now that Chuck is gone, endings are real. Do you understand me, Dean Winchester?"

Dean nodded. He saw, in the distance, Sam reuniting with Eileen.

"Copy that," said Dean. "Loud and clear. Besides - "

He took Castiel's hand.

"I sure as hell got somethin' to live for."

Death gave him a slight smile.

"Good," he said. "I may pay you a visit sometime in the future. Just see how you're getting on."

"You mean, so that you can keep an eye on us."

Death raised an eyebrow.

"Can you blame me?"

"Not really," said Dean, and then on impulse, he threw his arms around Death, who gave him a startled look. "You're welcome here anytime. Let me know, and I'll have deep-fried cheese curds ready and waiting."

Death, after a moment of recovery, patted Dean awkwardly on the back.

Dean let him go and stepped back.

"Thank you," he said. "Until next time."

Death gave Dean a little, pleased smile.

Then he vanished.

"Wonder if that's the first time anybody's hugged him," Dean said.

"You are a remarkable man, Dean Winchester," said Castiel.

"Yeah, about that," said Dean. "C'mon."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere private. I got things I wanna say to you."


	5. Free Will

Dean found a remotely empty room in the bunker, and hopped up to sit on the countertop. Then he pulled Castiel to him, and Castiel went gladly.

Now that Cas was up close, Dean was utterly bowled over by how _beautiful_ he was. He'd never thought that word in reference to Cas, never to any guy really, but hell. 

He'd never noticed that there was a darkness around Cas's eyes, like he was wearing eyeliner but he wasn't. His eyes were _really_ blue, and yeah of course Dean always knew that but now - he thought of oceans and gemstones and the sky, and how still and quiet things were now, that he was looking into them, _could_ look into them, now that he had permission and could look his fill.

How Castiel's lips were wide but just so, pink and perfect. How the arch of his nose made his face in profile look like those old statues Dean had seen in museums.

Ancient, powerful, perfect Castiel, a being of intense light and incredible strength cradled in this fragile human form.

Dean thought of ancient warriors, and that one was his lover, now; he was overwhelmed with the knowledge and was quiet and still. Wherever Castiel led, he would follow.

They were both of them untamed.

Castiel placed a hand flat against his chest. Dean could feel his heart thumping against it beneath his shirt. Cas's brows knit together, eyes closed, face turned to the side, pretty lips falling on an exhale as if he couldn't believe he could have this, could have Dean.

There was silence, only interrupted by their breathing.

A low gasp, parted lips, a moan.

" _Oh._ "

" _Cas._ "

Soft murmurs of first times and first touches, electric and unexpected skin against skin. Castiel laid a hand on Dean and he was lost, the warmth of that big palm on his skin, where he had only ever dreamed of it being, that they could share this together, the fire and the heat of it, the breath and the breathless.

Dean pulled his shirt over his head, and Castiel hurried to follow, Dean helping him with the buttons of his shirt.

Castiel went to pull his tie off when Dean grabbed his wrist.

"Leave the tie on," Dean panted. "Leave the fucking _tie_ fucking _on._ "

Castiel just nodded, and let Dean help him divest himself of his coat, jacket, and shirt.

Now they were both staring at each other, Dean breathing like a bellows, Castiel hung in the balance looking for the next strategic move. He studied Dean as he did all things, with an odd intensity, his mouth closed, lips pink, eyes bright-blazing blue.

Dean's cock was so hard it was dripping, his pants were open at the zipper as he stared down at it, as if this was the first time he had ever seen it, as if this was not just his first time with Cas but his first time in general.

He watched as Castiel touched it, the tip of his finger just grazing the head of his cock, and Dean hissed, throwing his head back. It was all so much and _too much_ and he was so fucking vulnerable and exposed but for the first time he trusted his lover -

and oh, wasn't that a surprise?

Dean found, in that moment and the next, that perhaps it was his first time after all.

There had never been sex like this, he had never had sex like this, he wondered if this was what all those writers of epics meant because he felt like he was going to die and live forever and break and be mended all by Castiel's hands alone -

and he, Dean Winchester, Adonis of the road and back-alley up-cunt fucks, macho man's man and ladies' man, dropped it all like so much baggage and was for the very first time completely open and trusting and vulnerable, face soft and eyes wide as he had been when he had forgotten himself and all he had become -

giving Castiel the gift of himself, a gift he'd long thought given and taken and tacky, but here in this room, it was blessed, soul-pure, sanctified.

Dean suddenly needed him closer, _so_ close, and started pulling at him, a strange thready whine in his throat, so intensely desperate he was near tears in his need for Castiel. And in the past, he would never - he could never - 

but here, alone, with Castiel, Dean could just _be_.

" _Beloved,_ " Castiel whispered into his skin as if he wished to tattoo it there, the way he had tattooed Dean's ribs and now Dean vaguely wondered what _exactly_ he had put there, this angel that had branded him and bonded him and seemed to enjoy carving _Property of Castiel_ against the very knit of his bones and his skin.

Then Castiel was kissing him, and Dean broke; a desperate, hitching sob of desire and of sacrifice and submission bled into Castiel's mouth, as Dean asked the angel in silence _take care of me, I'm breakable; yours forever, in this world and the next._

_In death we shall not part, Castiel, not ever._

Castiel couldn't possibly have heard Dean's thoughts and yet he thumped forward, hips caught in a stutter and his voice on a soft wail as if those words had been spoken aloud. There was nothing like service and submission and obedience to an angel, and Castiel was possessive.

He moved, then, and began to open Dean up without removing any more of his clothing, just adjusted his jeans for better access, and was pushing into him faster than Dean was expecting.

Dean began to thrash and moan, feeling split open, when Castiel set a finger against his lips and said:

" _Hush, beloved, sweet. I will take care of you._ "

And sure enough, Dean didn't know if it was grace or magic or just how badly they had wanted each other, but the slide was soon smooth. There would be time in the future, now, for gentle exploration, but it had been _years_ of stolen touches and furtive glances, quiet desperate jackoffs in motel showers where Dean breathed Castiel's name against the tiles, terrified of discovery; over a decade of pent-up desire. So, much as Dean tried to hold back, he couldn't help himself, and was yelling, incoherent, needy, pushing himself up with his hands and slamming down against the angel's hips because he knew Cas could take it, and it was gentle and violent, loud and soft, intense and perfect, just as things with Castiel had always been.

" _Castiel!_ " Dean shouted, at the end, and came all over his stomach as he wept, tears streaming down his face, overwhelmed and completely unashamed.

At the sound of his full name, Castiel stared up at Dean and the blue of his eyes flashed for a second as he stilled -

then roared, pitching forward, clamping his hand down on the handprint and the other around the back of Dean's head, forcing him to stare into Castiel's eyes as the angel came deep inside him, just another mark of possession, another show to the world, to the universe, that Dean Winchester irrevocably belonged to Castiel.

No matter what any person or angel or god intended. No matter what any writer or artist or chronicler wrote.

Dean and Cas were the one, immovable, unshakeable truth of the universe.

Panting, they came down from their mutual high, and Castiel still had a hold of Dean's head. He was still staring into Dean's eyes.

Dean was gazing at him, wide-eyed, because he could do that now, he could be vulnerable now. He was safe here with his angel, after all.

"You once asked me what was real," Castiel growled. "Dean. We are."

Dean blinked at him slowly, still on cloud nine.

"And we always will be, as long as you'll have me, Dean Winchester."

"Then you're shit out of luck," said Dean, grinning, "because you're stuck with me forever."

Castiel smiled back.

"I'd like that."


	6. Epilogue

"So you're telling me that you woke up every angel and demon in that place and razed the Empty -"

"Well, Jack woke them up, but I marshaled them, to be more accurate -"

"-because you heard me say _I love you, too?_ "

Castiel was handsome in the late afternoon sun, dappled by the light through the leaves. It was cooler now, turning towards autumn, and every other second Dean couldn't stop grinning his fool head off thinking alternately, _he's here,_ and then, _he's mine._

"Wouldn't you?" he asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yeah, I would," Dean agreed.

"You guys heading out?" asked Sam, coming up to them with his arm around Eileen. They were smiling, too.

Dean had never seen so much smiling before. He was sure everyone was going to get a cramp, since it wasn't exactly a form of exercise they had much practice in doing.

"Looks like it," said Dean. "Sure you don't wanna come?"

"Nah," said Sam. "I think we'd enjoy some alone-time. Besides, we have to do _something_ with all these people and angels and demons."

"Put Crowley in charge of the demons," said Dean. "He's good at that. Wouldn't want to be around when he sees Rowena again, but - hey. Maybe it'd go all right. For once."

Sam nodded.

"Things seem to be," he said, giving the birds singing in the trees a suspicious look.

"And uh," said Dean. "Sorry about not tellin' you. About, uh. This."

Sam gave him an incredulous look.

"Dean, I knew," he said.

"What do you mean, you knew?" Dean said.

"It was really obvious," Eileen said and signed while nodding.

"Guess you were the last to know," Sam said, and there was that shiteating grin again.

"If I wasn't in such a good mood, I'd punch you," said Dean.

"You punch him, I punch you back," said Eileen.

Dean regarded her, impressed.

"I like this one, Sammy," he said. "Hang on to her."

"You too," said Sam, smiling, and nodding to Castiel. "Have a good time, guys. See you soon."

"See ya," said Dean.

He and Cas turned back to the open trunk of the Impala.

Dean tossed his bag inside.

"We've got work to do."


	7. Author's Note

Well, I'm just an old whisky-drunk drifter, not too dissimilar from Dean, I suppose. Given that I also share his name, this story was always going to grow on me.

And I'd made my peace that Destiel was just gonna be some drifter, fish-and-a-star folk story for a long time to come.

Then they go and do this, and I heard Misha confirm it with his own words -

and now, I have _hope._

Hope that Cas will return, hope that his love will be returned. Because _that's_ what epics are made of, refuting the things the Shadow said (I know who you love, what you fear, there's nothing for you back there), Dean kicking down the doors of reality and dragging the angel back out into the light like an evangelical Christian teenager's wrong-side-of-the-tracks best friend who teaches him about freedom and life and love -

I've known that story. Hell, I've _been_ that story. I've been that wrong-side-of-the-tracks best friend.

Now I have hope, for the first time in years, while the drifting's been put on hold by the pandemic and all we've got are our thoughts about this and talking to friends about their own renewed hopes. I wrote this thing way too fast, couldn't sleep, the whole nine, smiling like an idiot when I remember that Misha, cast & crew were behind it all the way. I'm having a hard time thinking about anything else.

Damn it.

How about you?


	8. Playlist

Since I've completely lost my mind about all this, I'd like to invite you all to lose your minds as well. Here's my Destiel playlist, one I often use while writing stories or just to think about the massive amount of writing, art, and music this thing has inspired, like its own little Renaissance.

This is by no means an exhaustive list.

_Angel,_ Aerosmith

_Come to Bed,_ Elizabeth Smart

_Dean's Lament/Castiel's Lament (Hold Me Close)_

_Cassiel_ by Riley Estrada

_Hey There Dean_

_Painfully Heterosexual_

_Angel of the Lord_ (Warriors Parody)

_Bluebird_

_Even Angels Have Their Wicked Schemes_

_Flesh_ by Simon Curtis

_The Destiel Song_

_Trenchcoat Angel_

_Angel Mine_

_Misguided Angel_

_Angel with a Shotgun_

_Endlessly_

_You're the Only Exception_

_Young and Beautiful_

_Take Me to Church_

_You Could Be Happy_

_The Devil's Backbone_

_A Thousand Years_

_Like Real People Do_

_Iris_

_Counting Stars_

_Plead the Fifth_

_Hunters (Royals Parody)_

_Safe and Profound_

_Devils Don't Fly_

_Hey There, Castiel_

_Hello, My Hunter_

_Shut Up, Sam_

_The Castiel Song_

_As Long as it Takes (Blank Space Parody)_

_What If_

_Hunter's Sons_

_Home (Fansong)_

_Fallen (Destiel Fansong)_


End file.
